


Dreams of the Insomniac

by MirabilisMage



Category: Dragon Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirabilisMage/pseuds/MirabilisMage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian Hawke has never been a good sleeper. But insomnia allows her to watch the shadows and learn about others. What can you learn in the dark that you cannot see in the light? Here is what happens in the holes and shadows. . . .  Rated M for some adult language and sexual situations. F!Hawke/Isabela for now, probably other pairings later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WIP. Not particularly explicit until Chapter 6, which is F!Hawke/Isabela. Other pairings later.

****

Lothering

I. Dreams of the past

Because I have never been a good sleeper, I hate sleeping alone. Wait. Perhaps I am not a good sleeper because I have rarely slept alone? Not that I’ve never had any choice about either.

When I was a child. . . well, many things happened as a child, besides growing older, more attractive, and charming. We moved a lot, because of Father and Bethany. We had to stay one step ahead of noisy neighbors and threatening Templars. We kept our household small, for easy transport. We kept our houses small, to keep inconspicuous. The upshot was that I always shared a room with Bethany, and sometimes both twins. If I was unlucky, our house would have just one room for sleeping (or just one room) and the whole family would share. One year, we had to share with the animals too.

Of course, I suppose it was really Father and Bethany who were unlucky. I didn’t have to hide who I was or forever keep one eye trained over my shoulder.

There was always someone around, another restless dreamer, or a sigh, a groan, a soft bark or loud purr. When I was very young, I slept through it. Something about childhood days is quite exhausting. All the running around (for fun! not for fear) and fresh air is tiring. Clapping games are just exhausting. Braiding and unbraiding and rebraiding hair takes the mental energy.

One summer, I took sick, and that is when everything changed. (Or so I thought. I’ve been having nothing but “and then everything changed” moments ever since.) Something was wrong with my stomach, which led to terrible pain. It was awful for Mother, I’m sure. Suddenly she had a normal person to worry about, not just a couple of on-the-run mages. Father was a kind man, a helpful man, but he hadn’t known much about healing. While he took the time to teach Bethany, he certainly kept his magic under wraps. He had to venture out to see if he could heal me, since Mother’s herbal remedies (Maker bless her!) did little to help.

Due to the pain, I was often awake at night and slept during the day. If I could sleep, the pain caused terrible nightmares. As the others slept, I learned to watch. I traced the moon and stars through the windows. Learned the rise and fall of breathing, the different cycles of dreaming and sleep. I saw the mice, when they felt it was safe enough to creep out. I learned to read the shadows. All helpful skills for my later life, dealing as I do with daggers.

After much risk (I mean, study), Father felt ready. He was secretly happy whenever an animal was sick or injured, for he would practice on it, first. (Father was the kindest man in the world, so please don’t think he ever did anything untoward to the animals!) But after he’d felt enough knitted bones and enough infections had been fenced in and enough seamless skin, he was ready for me.

I’m not a mage, so I cannot speak to the kinds of spells my father used. I know he dealt with no demons. But whether he drew from the Fade or from his own strength, I cannot say. He laid his hands on me, and for a brief moment, all of the pain gathered at one point, and it felt as if I was experiencing an explosion of stars in my gut. I say a brief moment, but it might have been many minutes, an hour. Just bright stars. And then it was over. I was returned to Mother’s care and her herbals, and I was repaired.

My body was repaired, but my mind was gone, given over to the night. Even though no pain kept me awake, still I would lurk in the corners long after everyone else was asleep. I knew the risks Father had taken, and I now saw it was my duty to protect him, to keep watch while he slumbered.

Even as I have honed this skill, it has not helped me much. Ostagar. Ostagar was a night battle, and I was at my prime. But the enemy seemed to draw its strength from the darkness, or some black evil. And instead of using my skill to fight, I had to flee, and to keep fleeing. . . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Year One**

II. Dreams of the Future

Gamlen’s house is very strange. It feels as if it is part warehouse. There is a main room, and a small bedroom, and then a side room for. . . crates? He was gracious enough to give my mother a bed, and so they sleep in the bedroom. Bethany and I camp out in the main room.

Bethany sleeps, and I listen. I listen to the fights outside, to the occasional barking dog, to whores and moans and sighs and fears. I listen for Templars. I listen for Darkspawn. I listen to the voices in my head. (Carver’s final words, Aveline’s anguish, the Witch of the Wilds: all becomes a jumble, and I spend many nights reconstructing who said what.)

The bedroll is thin and the floor is hard. Something is always scurrying. There is always something to watch out for and always something to plan. Bethany is obsessed with getting our estate back. I just want something more comfortable for my back.

Sometimes Bethany is awake, and even though I must give up my thoughts, I am happy to speak with her.

“What will become of us?” she asks softly.

“Well, we have another day of ‘errands’ for Athenril, then another dinner of stew and stale bread, I suppose,” I say as softly as I can. For all my shadows, my voice does not like to whisper.

“No, silly. Afterwards. We have to be here for at least a year. A year is manageable. But what then? Do you think we will spend the rest of our lives in this. . .place?”

“Bethany, we can’t stay here forever. You know, soon enough the boys will notice you, and I’ll have to chase them away as surely as the Templars.”

She laughs but falls silent.

“We had a routine in Lothering,” I say. “We were working towards a future. Now we work on a new one.” I feel her nod in the dark. “I know you want Mother’s estate back. Or at least a nicer house than this. What else do you want?”

She has an immediate answer: “To be normal.”

“Do you want a husband? Children?” This conversation matches what we used to talk about while waiting for the Darkspawn. We, Bethany and I, yes, but also those others at Ostagar. In Lothering. In Ferelden.

Bethany turns onto her stomach. “I do. But I see how much Mother worries. I know she loved Father, but their life was so hard. Who can I find to love me? How could I bear to put someone through that?”

I grin. “Maybe you’ll meet another nice apostate.”

Bethany laughs. “Maybe so.”

I am grateful she does not ask what I want. She sighs and falls asleep. When I finally fall asleep, I dream of Templars chasing husbands and husbands chasing Templars.


	3. Chapter 3

**Act I**

III. Roadblock Dreams

I secretly feared that once our year was up, nothing would change. That we would be stuck in Gamlen’s house forever. That the days would be nothing but petty thuggery and the nights hard floorboards and starving mice. I don’t particularly care for money or status, but “refugee” is starting to feel like an awfully limited life choice.

But finally some luck (dare I call it good?). I heard talk of an expedition to the Deep Roads. Varric is a very smart man and clearly recognized my talents: offering me a partnership was a wise decision. There is the issue of 50 sovereigns. If I had that kind of coin, I would not need the expedition And coin is not enough, we need maps. Maps from a Grey Warden. As I needed something else to keep me up at night.

IV. Dreams of the apostate

Lirene’s advice to look for the lit lamp is not very particularly helpful advice. By definition, Darktown is full of lit lamps. Instead, the stream of refugees points the way to the Grey Warden’s clinic.

Inside, you can feel the magic. There is a slight hum. A star in my middle lights up for just a moment, happy to once again be part of healing magic. Actually, this star feels disconcertingly like a butterfly. But that disconcerting feeling gives way to a sense of security; the clinic feels, briefly, like home. Like Father feeling bold enough to work on some magical project. Bethany’s shoulders relax. The poor mage, though, he does not feel secure or free when he sees us. Not that I can blame him.

“A favor for a favor?” he asks, and his eyes are hopeful. Or crafty. I say yes because we really need those maps, but those eyes, they had at least a 5% influence.

After we have left the clinic, Bethany was the first to speak. “He seems quite earnest. Dedicated.”

Aveline frowns. “He seems like trouble.”

Varric shrugs. “He seems to have what we need, and is willing to give it to us, however reluctantly. Bianca liked him well enough.”

Aveline shakes her head and Bethany gives a small smile.

“Well,” I declare in my slightly too loud voice, “I think he seems quite handsome.”

They all stare at me. “What?” Now they are shaking their heads at me. But Bethany whispers to me, “I think so, too.”

A nice apostate indeed.

V. Dreams of failure

Saving Karl was a failed mission. I had known that mages feared being made Tranquil, know that Father feared it above all else. I had met a few in my travels, in my old life. I understood intellectually that it was a bad thing, but the ones I met had seemed pleasant enough. They weren’t sad about it (or happy!), they weren’t anything. And some days, like today, the thought of not feeling anything seems quite nice.

Karl was not just made Tranquil, but was forced to serve as bait. And with no emotions, he had no reason to object. He had no choice and couldn’t even long for the choice that was denied him. He couldn’t feel mad or angry or regretful about trapping his friend. He couldn’t even feel happy about it (who knows what transpired in the past?). But the worst was seeing him restored, for a brief moment. Lucidity, normality, in the middle of madness.

At least when Ser Wesley died, it was his choice, and he had his mind until the end.

Now as I try to sleep, I am tortured by visions of monotone mages, of the desperation of those left behind, of a black and white world. I dream that it happens to my sister, that it happens to me, that. . . .

“Bethany!” I whisper-yell desperately.

“S-sister?” she replies groggily.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course. Why?”

“You. . . you were thrashing in your sleep.”

I can just make out a frown on her face. “Was I? I was having a lovely dream. We were children again, and Carver was there, and we were. . . .”

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

She sits up and pushes a strand of hair from her face. “Are you okay? We haven’t really. . .spoken today.”

I pat her on the arm. “Of course I’m okay. Of course. What about you?”

She sighs. “Sometimes I think a normal life is possible. There are people willing to help and understand mages.”

I laugh. “You mean revolutionaries!”

It is too dark to see, but I am sure she rolls her eyes. “It just feels like a change is coming. But then Templars or others still get away with such horrible abuses.”

“Bethany, if we have learned anything since leaving Lothering, it is that change is always coming.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” She is quiet for a long time, and I think she has fallen asleep against me. But finally she speaks. “Poor Anders. Poor Karl.”

I am tempted to make a joke, to point out that at least we have our maps, and the help of a former Grey Warden, but all of my words feel cheap.

VI. Troubling dream (or Dreaming alone)

There is just one, just one, problem with rarely sleeping alone: it is very difficult to get “alone time” as Isabela so delicately puts it. For a long time, shock was enough to satisfy me, by which I mean, after escaping for my life and spending a year in servitude, I wasn’t interested in anything. . .recreational.

It was a strange set of circumstances, to be looking for a missing woman and then be propositioned by a prostitute. Truly, not the kind of thing one thinks will happen (but hopes for, perhaps). After being surrounded by so much sorrow, Jethann’s offer sounded exhilarating. My blood pounded in my ears. I remembered that happiness (or at least contentment) didn’t have to be sarcastic remarks and delicate facades. Happiness could mean desire and human (ahem) contact.

I will not say that the tumble with Jethann made my think about more innocent times. I remember the fear we all felt, as the Blight approached, and how so many of us took the opportunity to say good bye to our virginity before saying good bye to our friends and families. Surrounded by death, sometimes you need a reminder about why life is so wonderful, and sometimes a kitten or a child’s smile just isn’t enough.

But that tumble with Jethann reminded me how much I missed that. How I wish those early circumstances had been different (of course, we all wish the Blight hadn’t occurred at all, etc etc). But how I miss those sweet village boys and those rougher soldiers. We were all bursting with youth and energy, and for grand causes, not just for back-alley errands. We actually thought we could win.

On nights like this, then, I do wish I was alone. I have “done the deed” with Bethany or others around, but it’s not as much fun. The thing about sex is that it frees my mind for a little bit. I don’t have to worry about Templars or Darkspawn or getting enough coin or about the ache in my shoulder. For a moment I can be worry free. But I can’t be worry free if I am worried about my sister or mother overhearing.

Slinking into the alley might be the only option, as at least the friendly whores will provide a cover for me.

Most troubling of all are the images in my mind. Is it no surprise that Isabela finds purchase in my fantasies? Her voice, her words, her body: no, that is no surprise. But Ander is there, too, in my brain. Rugged, masculine, vulnerable. It is no surprise, but it is troubling, for both of them are trouble. These small actions I take now, alone in the dark, I fear where they lead to in the future.

Perhaps I need a larger circle of friends.

VII. Seeking dreams

I have happily collected maps and money. And happily collected friends to surround me. I hate to be alone when I sleep. I hate to be alone when I’m awake. Now I have a collection of oddballs. I mean, friends. We are all running, running from a past that haunts us and running into a future we cannot possibly know.

When I cannot sleep (so, all the time), I think about their beauty and their strength. Frail Merrill and the demons she calls forth with her blood. Fragile Fenris. Avenging Aveline. Smooth Varric, of the tricks and tales, sagas and stories. Inciting Isabela. Her swagger draws forth butterflies as easily from me as does magic. Abominable Anders, whose hard soul belies a depth of kindness. I think about my fears for them, that I will not be able to protect my make shift family. That they will be unable to find what they seek.

We are all seekers.

Bethany pads across the floor in her nightgown. I imagine the magic inside her, flowing in her veins. Anders is a mage hiding in plain sight. Perhaps Bethany can relax and do so as well? Oh. Wait. No one would ever put “Anders” and “relax” in the same sentence.

She sits next to me. “The Deep Roads expedition is soon.”

“Yes. I’m still trying to talk Aveline into going.”

“Aveline! But she’s so busy.”

“But she’s so good with Darkspawn. Have you forgotten how she took one out by punching it in the face?”

Bethany laughs. “There will be a lot of changes after. Once we come back.”

“Yes, and you see, I have found you a nice mage to settle down with.” I pause. “Anders is cute too.”

Bethany laughs again. “I do not think Merrill is my type.”

“But a blood mage! Think how interesting your children will be.”

Bethany shakes her head and hides under her blankets. “Wait. I will not let you evade me again. All of these changes. What do you want to happen, Sister?”

I stretch. “For you and Mother to be happy of course. Which means leaving this place as soon as humanly, or elvenly, or dwarvenly possibly. Not Qunarily, though, that’s much too slow.”

“You are terrible,” Bethany sighs.

“That I am, that I am.” I think what I want is a pretty girl or boy, a comfortable bed, and the occasional adventure. I think I do not want to tell Bethany this, and I do not know why.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Deep Roads**

VIII. Dreams leave me

Leaving for the Deep Roads meant leaving many things. Leaving Kirkwall, obviously. Leaving the surface world. Leaving fresh air and sunlight. Leaving Mother. Leaving Bethany.

I had wanted to bring Bethany with me. And Aveline. I would have brought Mother, too, come to that, if she was a bit spryer. But Aveline has a city to protect. The Captain of the Guard can’t traipse around the Deep Roads for who knows how long. And Mother’s grief was so raw still, I could not leave her alone with Gamlen. What if something happened to Bethany down in the Deep Roads? I’d never forgive myself. Mother certainly wouldn’t.

I had hoped that since the Deep Roads does not have day or night I might be able to sleep. Instead, terror keeps me awake. I fear the rocks will come crashing down on me. I fear Darkspawn will take us by surprise. I fear spiders. Especially the big ones. And the damn drip-drip-drip from some unknown source keeps me awake as well.

Varric sleeps well. Perhaps his dwarven instincts have taken over. Merrill sleeps, too. Maybe she uses blood magic to do it? I wonder if blood magic could be performed by a non-mage. I do have plenty of blood. Anders doesn’t sleep. He tries. He thrashes, though, and wakes, and dozes again. As do I. My sister sleeps pretty well (it helps that she is home, of course). I wonder if a mage could cast a sweet dream spell on another mage? They’re all connected to the Fade after all, or something.

I did debate about bringing Anders along. He said he never wanted to see the Deep Roads again. But he can sense the Darkspawn, and he can keep us safe. I did not mean to torture him, though. I am used to bad dreams, and I had forgotten that he dreams of Darkspawn. I mean, I dream about them, too.

Merrill is game for any new experience, which is why she is here. Plus I thought it would be helpful to have another mage around. And another woman. Not that I’ve ever really had any trouble because of my gender. It’s just nice to have someone who understands. . .something. Ah, what am I saying, we have nothing at all. She is just pleasant company, for all that hides within her.

The rest of the camp, the other dwarves, they snore soundly. I wonder what Bethany is up to? She has the whole main room to herself now. She can really stretch out and take her pick of stiff floorboards. I wonder if Mother misses me? Mother. She loves me, but sometimes she forgets me. She has her worry for Bethany, her grief for Carver and Father. No, of course she misses me. Who else does she have to blame for things? Oh, right, Gamlen.

I hear rustling nearby and see a flash of movement in the remains of the gloomy light. Ah, a ruffle of feathers. It is just Anders, sitting up and shaking his head.

“Are you alright?” he asks me. He can clearly see right through my “pretending to be asleep” rouse. Is Bethany not as good at figuring that out, or has she been kind enough to pretend all these years?

“Oh, yes. Just taking in a little of the scenery. The stalagmites and stalactites look just beautiful in the moonlight.”

He chuckles. “Quite a nice place for a summer house. The swarms of Darkspawn will add to the ambiance, you’ll see.”

“Wouldn’t have to worry about sunburn, either.”

Suddenly, a gruff voice calls out, “Can it, you sodding sons of nug humpers!”

“I will definitely need new neighbors though,” I say, before diving under my blanket. I decide it is wise not to further incur the dwarf’s wrath.

IX. Falling Asleep

I don’t think I considered the reality of the Deep Roads. Anders is a kind man, but melodramatic. I took his dislike of the Deep Roads with a grain of salt. Of course, the reality is far worse than he, or anyone else, had alluded to.

I suppose I expected some fighting, a bit of spelunking, lots of treasure, and then a triumphant homecoming, all in a week, tops. I thought this would be a good way to get some experience. The profits would be a welcome addition, but perhaps I could learn a new technique, too. Naively, I thought everything would go well. If I didn’t have my optimism, I wouldn’t have much.

Starting off with finding a path around a cave in was bad, but then we found Bodahn’s son and a frozen ogre. Surely this was a good sign after all. A magic dwarf? What can go wrong now? Bodahn was so grateful, too, a man of fine promises. Everything was going well. But some small part of me knew things couldn’t continue going well. There would be a price for finding Sandal alive.

Honestly, Bartrand sealing us in was a sort of relief. The bad event had finally arrived, and now we could move on. Ha, if only we knew where we were going.

It’s been a few days now (I think). Anders is constantly on edge. He can sense creatures in the darkness and rarely sleeps. Merrill is wilting; Varric has stopped calling her “Daisy” because it sounds too macabre. Varric seems to be fine, if only because his single-minded desire for revenge gives him strength. And as for me, well, other than the occasional hallucination, I seem to be okay. I just verify with someone before I strike. (“Is that actually a laughing mouse, or just a silent stone?” “Uh, there’s nothing there at all.”)

I’m not really sleeping, either. I try to meditate. I think about Mother or Bethany, and how lovely the future will be. Usually, though, I think about the loudness of the cave (the silence is deafening, but the sounds of dripping water or scurrying animals, the actual noises, are far worse). I think about how much everyone is getting on my nerves. I think about how sometimes Merrill stares into space, Varric stares at Bianca, and Anders stares at me, and I could punch them all in their stupid faces.

After my latest meditation attempt, I fling myself backwards. “Anders! Merrill! Can’t one of you cast a sleep spell? Or just knock me out?”

“Well, Hawke, the sort of magic that requires could cause permanent damage. You see, every time I cast blah blah blah spell, it takes away. . .” Merrill has taken me too seriously again. I’m also not sure she didn’t say “blah blah blah” spell.

“You can’t just hit me in the head with your staff?”

“Surely that would leave a dent in the staff,” Anders chimes in.

“I’m glad everyone’s spirits are still so high,” I said.

“Spirit is all we have. Literally, in Blondie’s case.” Varric nods to add emphasis to his point. Anders frowns.

“Does Bianca have spirit?” Merrill asks.

“You’ve seen her fight. She’s a bit excitable.”

I close my eyes, and find a few moments of peace. Varric has such a soothing voice, especially when he speaks of Bianca.

Thankfully, I don’t dream at all. Good dreams are worse than nightmares. Good dreams are a reminder that there is something besides a nightmare, but for whatever reason, the brain has decided to torture the sleeper with horrific images. While I don’t sleep much, these days in the caverns have blocked out my brain, and everything is blissfully black.

I do not know how long I sleep, but when I wake, everyone else has fallen asleep. As I sit up, I think how funny the phrase “fallen asleep” is. The Deep Roads are defined by falling: avalanches and rock slides, the fear of falling off some high ledge, fallen beings (the Darkspawn, and whatever else lurks in the shadows). Falling seems awfully malicious. Why would I want to fall asleep?

Stiffly I stand, and search out some water. Thankfully between our two mages we have enough to eat and drink, though just barely. I can hear one of my companions stir; I assume it is Anders. But it is Merrill. I do not realize until she joins me, she moves so silently; I guess that is why Isabela calls her “Kitten.”

“Thank you,” she says simply as I offer her a drink. When she is finished, she draws in her breath. After a pause, she speaks. “I have been in caves before. When I met you, we had to go through Sundermount. I thought I knew about caves. But the Deep Roads feel so different. The rocks feel different.”

I shrug. “They sort of are different. If nothing else, when you leave Sundermount, you know more elves will be on the other side, or a witch or a dragon. Here, it’s not so clear what’s on the other side.”

She takes me hand. “You do think there is another side, don’t you Hawke? Something will be waiting for us at the end?”

“Of course!” I pause but say it anyway, “But what’s waiting might not be something good.”

“I know. I want there to be something. I just. . .I just want to see a bit of sunlight again.”

“Don’t you know any fire spells?” It’s not the same, I know. But might as well ask.

“Thanks anyway, Hawke.” She lets go of my hand, and I hear more noise behind us. The others are awake. Time to move on.

X. Joyfully Dreamless

I was secretly overjoyed when we came upon the rock wraiths. Terrifying, yes, but they were something waiting for us, as Merrill wanted. This kind of evil (can something mindless be evil?) always has a master. The master always has a key, or a note, or map or something else useful. The Ancient Rock Wrath is a very tough battle but the payoff is quite great: a literal key and all the treasure we can carry.

We agree to spend one more night in the Deep Roads, in order to rest after our battle. After that, we will make one final push to the surface.

Everyone is jovial and full of smiles. We sit in a circle and hold four different conversations at once:

“I’m going to drink myself silly and then hunt down Bartrand --”  
“Why did the Rock Wraiths have so much treasure just sitting around? Where did it come from and what would they spend it on?”  
“This is really my last time in the Deep Roads. Really.”  
“What would be better, a large steak or a large cake?”

I lounge on my stomach and finally give in and think about food. Food, actual food! Not creepy cave creature stew! Not that the food at Gamlen’s house has been anything approaching half-edible, but still. Soon I will have the coin to buy as much as I’d like.

“Okay, listen to me,” I say, interrupting everyone’s chatter. “This is important. Very important. What is the first thing you are going to eat when you get home?”

I am met with chuckles.

Varric is thoughtful. “They serve a delicious mystery stew at The Hanged Man. Probably that, unless alcohol counts. But you know, Hawke, what’s really important is what we’ll do with all this loot.”

“No, what’s important is seeing the sun and the sky, and breathing real air. Not that the Alienage has very pleasant air.” Anders actually nods in agreement with Merrill’s statement.

“Breathing, pshaw. Not more important than food,” I say, trying to cross my arms while still on my stomach.

Anders scratches his chin. “At this point, perhaps a bath. A shave.”

Merrill cocks her head. “Do you shave?”

“I think being a Grey Warden enhances everything,” I say and only once the words are out do I realize how naughty that sounds. Choice time, hide or build on the innuendo? “. . . or so I’ve heard,” eye brow raise. Luckily I am met with shaking heads and laughter. But then I say something really uncharacteristic:

“Actually, the most important thing is getting some rest. Big day ahead. Or night. Who knows what it will be like when we get out of here.”

It is short, too short as always, but I enjoy what I anticipate is my last dreamless sleep for a while.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Home Coming**

XI. This is a dream, right?

We arrive home from the Deep Roads dirty, hungry, and exhausted. After so long together in the dark, we don’t want to see each other any time soon. We wanted to get home to our cots and beds and bedrolls, to real food and a tankard of ale. Everyone had an excuse: Anders to see to his patients, Varric to repair Bianca and plot Bartrand’s doom, Merrill to. . . well, I am not sure about Merrill. To study elven lore, probably.

I’m not sure what makes me more excited: seeing sky or seeing Bethany. The sky is often grey or smoky in Kirkwll, and Bethany can be annoying, but still they are mine. I am triumphant. I have overcome any number of horrors and now I have enough treasure to buy a bed, a house, and a decent meal. Enough to buy a little status and protection. Enough to buy some stability.

I open Gamlen’s door with a grand sweep, ready for hugs and kisses and accolades. But inside is the threat I cannot vanquish: Templars. Mother is crying and Gamlen is looking away. Bethany is already dressed in Circle robes, looking grimly determined.

“Surely there is some mistake?” My words come out before I can actually process them. Of course there is no mistake. There is no doubt that Bethany is a mage. Our time in Kirkwall, her time, has been borrowed.

The Templars point out that we are getting off easy and Bethany says something soft and comforting. Too soon they are gone and all that is left is Gamlen’s hunched back and Mother’s sobs. I comfort her as best I can, but she is as angry as she is sad. If only I’d been home sooner or taken her with me or never gone at all. If only, indeed. Gamlen doesn’t say anything, and I wonder if he is behind this. Perhaps he received some coin or some pardon for turning her in.

Mother is inconsolable, so I carefully stow my treasure and withdraw to take a bath. By the time I have finished, she has retired to her bed and Gamlen has left. I cannot bear the thought of sitting alone in the front room. I have no desire to visit the companions I just left. Aveline’s maternal reassurances sound promising but then I realize it: I need to do something reckless.

Time to see what Isabela is up to.

XII. Sex or violence or both

The Hanged Man is unusually quiet. Few patrons are loitering at the tables; maybe they had all wised up to the quality of the swill served at the bar. I am grateful to see that Varric is nowhere around.

I find my way to Isabela’s room. Before knocking, I place my ear to the door. Not that Isabela cares about privacy, but I am tired of embarrassing the poor person/elf/dwarf she is with. I don’t hear anything too incriminating, so I knock.

Isabela seems surprised to see me. “Hawk, what are --”

I cut her off. “I need sex or violence or both.”

She arches an eyebrow and smiles. “I thought you’d never ask. One moment.” She quickly gathers a few things, such as her daggers, then locks her door and joins me in the hallway. “Come one, I heard about some trouble at the docks. Let’s go give Aveline’s boys a hand.”

As we leave, I double-check. “You said you want to help the Guard?”

She shrugs. “Normally I wouldn’t care one or the other, but since you’re here, it could be fun.”

“Could be,” I say as we exit onto the street.

Isabela is quiet as we walk, and I’m glad. I just want to be doing, not thinking. At least, I think that’s what I want. My thoughts keep turning to Bethany and Mother. I dread having to tell everyone what has happened. I fear I’ll have to talk Anders down from staging some kind of suicidal/homicidal rescue mission. No, telling Fenris will be worse, he will probably say it’s her fault or for her own good or something. Maybe I’ll just tell everyone she’s taken a vacation. A vacation that will last for the next fifty years. I can’t take it so I quietly break the silence.

“What are we doing exactly?”

“A boat has just arrived. The Guard is there to, ah, guard it because it can’t be unloaded until morning. The manifest has been kept top secret. But because of the secrecy, interest has spread like the Orlesian disease.”

“So what’s this secret cargo?”

“Supplies for the refugees, sent from Ferelden. I don’t know if it was sent by the king or if the poor people left behind took up a collection. But every gang in the Undercity wants a piece.”

All is quiet in that unsettling-calm-kind-of-way. The Guardsmen actually look bored. But then an arrow whizzes through the air. A few more follow, and suddenly the docks are swarming with people: Guardsmen, Coterie, Carta, members of the Redwater Teeth gang, and some I don’t recognize. A few ragged desperate men seem to be participating as well. Isabela and I grab our weapons and jump into the fray.

“Hawke, good to see you!” one of the Guardsmen shouts. I recognize Brennan.

I am about to reply when a man appears in front of me, aiming for my shoulder. I strike quickly with a dagger, and then quickly kick out, catching him behind the knees. Once he is down, I unleash an explosive strike. I feel someone at my back, but it is only Isabela. She crouches, then dashes away again.

A Guardsman, meanwhile, is locked sword to sword with some dark-clad enemy. I sneak underneath and force the swords apart with my dagger. As he reels backward, I throw a knife.   
Finally, the scene has cleared. The various bad guys are dead or limping away. Isabela seems to have disappeared as well. I chat with the Guard, hoping she will return quickly.

“Hawke, you always know where to be,” Brennan says. “So dependable.”

“I try, I try,” I say, as quickly wipe down my blades. Maker, where is she? I don’t need small talk right now.

“Just last week, we--”

“Isabela, there you are! Give my regards to the captain!” I grab her arm and briskly walk us away.

“Everything okay, Hawke?”

“Yeah, just enough small talk. Or any talk. Where were you?”

She reaches into a pocket hidden in her tiny tunic, and reveals an apple. I shake my head. “I only took a few. You can’t keep a girlish figure on ale alone.” She grabs my hand and takes the lead of our two person parade. I am happy to follow those hips.

When we arrive back at the Hanged Man, a frown briefly crosses her face. “Weren’t you on the Deep Roads expedition?”

“Yes.”

“When did you get back?”

“About two hours before I knocked on your door.”

“Bartrand returned some time ago. He said. . . “

“You can’t believe anything that son of a bitch says.”

“Well obviously.” She stops at the bar, and buys us a few pints. She nods her head toward the stairs and I follow her again.

Inside her room, I take a sip and then blurt it out. “They took Bethany today. Took her to the Circle.”

“Maker, I’m sorry to hear that. But Bethany is a good girl, she’ll be fine.”

I nod.

“Well then, let’s talk about something more fun. Better idea! Let’s do something more fun.”


	6. Chapter 6 An Adult Interlude

**Chapter 6: An Adult Interlude**

XIII. Stability

Isabela sets her drink down, and takes mine from my hand. She cups my cheek and leans in for a kiss. I eagerly kiss back. I am excited – well, of course, but also because now I can let my body take over. No thinking involved. Especially with Isabela; I don’t have much experience with women, but I’m sure she can lead the way. I place my hands on her hips and tug at her belt.

In turn, she places her left hand on my side and runs her right hand through my short hair and tugs on my earlobe. Reluctantly, I interrupt her.

“We have a lot of pointy things. We should get rid of them. . . . Right?”

She laughs and fluidly removes her various daggers and knives. Next her white tunic hits the floor, though boots and jewelry remain. Isabela is a practiced lady. I feel like a clumsy oaf as I fumble with my own weapons, buckles, and laces. She is watching me and I grow self-conscious. Should I be talking? I should be quiet. I should say something. What did I do to this knot? Are my fingers larger than they used to be?

“So, Isabela--”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh Hawke. You’re as adorable as a hatchling. Here.” Her hands are swift and thorough, moving in a wave from top to bottom. Finally I am free too. I put my hands on my hips and look down, surveying everything on the floor.

“I don’t think I’ll say anything for the rest of the night.”

She puts her hands on my shoulders. “I’ll let you know when you should be screaming my name.” She envelops me completely in her embrace. She kisses my neck and wraps one of her legs around mine. I run my fingers up and down her back, occasionally using my nails, and sometimes stopping to squeeze her ass.

Isabela plants her feet firmly on the floor. She winds one hand into my hair and moves the other to my breast. As she pinches my nipple, she bites my neck. I gasp and breathe out an “Isabela!” She pauses and shakes her head. “Not yet, Hawke.” She tweaks my nipple one more time, and then pulls my hands away from her back, dropping them to my sides. She pushes down on my shoulders. “Stay.” She walks behind me, and presses against me, pressing her hands against my stomach. Isabela nibbles, tracing the lines of my left shoulder, up the curve of my neck, and ending with a bite on my ear. Meanwhile, one of her hands moves up and the other moves down. I arch my back and reach behind my, straining for anything to cling to. I only find the occasional piece of soft skin, more often landing on warm metal or silky hair.

She breaks apart from me and places her left hand on the center of my back, pushing me forward. I wobble and she laughs. “Maybe that’s a little too advanced.” She pulls me back up and I am laughing too. After rolling her eyes and stretching, Isabela she grabs our drinks. I sit on the bed because standing seems too complicated. I accept the tankard (or is it a mug? Or a stein? Brain, hush!) and drink greedily. Isabela joins me. I try to suavely set my beverage container down and reach out to kiss her, but instead wind up spilling what’s left in her lap.

I stare for a moment. “I’m usually better at this.”

Isabela leans back. “Well Hawke, don’t waste it.” She makes a very compelling point. I slide off the bed, push her legs apart, and get to work, starting at the thighs. I also start working on those boots. Keeping everything coordinated is not unlike patting my head and rubbing my tummy at the same time. I slowly work my way up to her center, and she parts her legs even more. Clearly I’m doing something right, though now it’s a little harder to get at her boots.

She squirms, and places a hand on my head to help guide my efforts. I use her thighs to stabilize myself. The licking is going well, though the focus is really no longer on the spilled ale. The licking is much more about what is spilling from Isabela. As I gently lap at her clitoris, my brain tries to make some sort of pun about stealing the Pirate Queen’s pearl. Brain, is this really the time? Especially now that she is bucking her hips. Perhaps my quips are the source of my prowess. Hmmm.

She is moving like a storm across the ocean, and I do my best to keep up. Speed is clearly of the essence. I swab her deck from back to front and am rewarded with an even tighter grip on my hair. (My brain congratulates itself.)

“Almost there, Hawke,” Isabela says. I return to her clit, moving quickly, applying more pressure with my tongue. A new trick occurs to me, and I do my best to suck and nibble. I have chosen wisely, and am met with a gasp. One last thrust and her body slows, then stills. I lean back and take a breath, then another, gulping air like ale.

Isabela smiles at me. “Get up here, Hawke.”

I lie beside her and close my eyes. I have gotten my violence and sex; I don’t need much else for now. So I jump just a little bit when Isabela begins sucking on my left nipple. Her hand makes itself at home between my legs. Well. This works, too.

My body is writhed in nerves and tension; every cell is on edge. It wants a release of some kind, and so does my brain. She makes short work of me and ever nerve explodes at once. The electric wave starts at my toes and races upward. I would cry out, but every word instantly leaves my brain. I forget how to make sounds. My body and brain are happy to finally have an ending of sorts.

Isabela pats my leg, gives me a kiss and stands up. “I’m going to get a drink. You can stay if you want.” She dresses quickly and then is gone.

I fold my arms under my head and stare at the ceiling. Should I leave? Try to get some sleep? I look around; I have not spent much time in Isabela’s room. It is bare of any personal items. I want to make it into a metaphor. But Isabela is a complex woman, and this is just a room.

I close my eyes. I don’t know that I want to sleep or that I want to be alone. But this bed is more comfortable than the stone of the Deep Roads, and I definitely don’t want to be at Gamlen’s house.

Tomorrow I will face reality. For now, I will stay here, and think about. . .nothing. Try to think about nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7, Between the Deep Roads and Act 2**

XIV. Out. Here.

I creep home by dawn light, entering the house as quietly as I can. Mother is already awake, her eyes shining and red.

“Where were you?” she demands in a loud whisper.

“Out,” I say, divesting myself of weapons and outer clothing.

“You’re never here. You should be here.”

I sit down at the battered table. “I know.”

She crosses her arms. She takes a breath, but does not speak. “Well. How was the Deep Roads.”

“It was fine. Just fine.” Mother is such a fragile creature, and sometimes I do not know how to handle her. Bethany always did. I know her sorrow and anger will break soon enough, but I do not relish bearing them alone for now. “You should visit the viscount soon. Redouble your efforts to petition him for your estate.”

Her arms drop to her sides. “Do you mean --”

I nod and she rushes to hug me. “Some small comfort.”

She pats my head and shakes out her nightgown, as if she will visit Dumar in her frilly chemise. She nods. “Take care of the financial, and I’ll see about the social. And political.” She turns away, to head to her bedroom, but then returns to me for another hug. “I am glad you are home safe.”

I almost think she is.

XV. Ladies’ Night Out

“So tomorrow,” I say, leaning over my tankard, “I’ll have to put on my finest clothes and visit the Viscount with my mother.”

Merrill cocks her head. “Do you own any finest clothes? I’ve never seen you in anything besides that. Will you be scouring off the blood stains?”

“I’ll get what I can, anyway,” I shaking my head. “There might be something of Bethany’s I can wear….” I trail off. There are many things, in the trunk at Gamlen’s, that belong to Bethany. I cannot wear any of them. I doubt they’d fit anyway.

“Hawke, you should have said something. I think I have something you can wear.” We all stare, open-mouthed, at Aveline.

“You own a dress, Big Girl? This I’ve got to see,” Isabela says.

Aveline shrugs. “Obviously I prefer and need my uniform most of the time. But as a soldier, I know it’s important to be prepared. So yes, I have a dress. Stop by my office in the morning, and I’ll have it ready for you.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I say. I am a bit worried about what this dress will look like. Will it be suitably butch, or will Aveline surprise us all with a taste for pink lace?

“I guess I don’t understand why you need a dress in the first place,” Merrill says, frowning. “Your clothes show who you are, a strong fighter. Not that a dress can’t show strength, of course, but it’s not you. Unless you want to wear dresses. Oh dear, Merrill, you should lay off the ale.”

Isabela shakes her head. “It’s all about playing a part, Kitten. Role playing. Putting on a show. Wearing a dress shows that our Hawke is an upstanding citizen.”

“Exactly. There’s some concern about ‘my past’ even though that past includes rescuing the viscount’s son.” I pause. “Sort of.”

The conversation drifts to other topics, and soon my companions excuse themselves for the night, off to other adventures. Or sleep, I suppose. I am left alone at the table, pondering what to do next. I still very much dislike being at Gamlen’s, where I am often alone with Mother; Uncle has done a very good job making himself scarce, and at the worst possible time. I often prowl the streets until I can no longer lift my weapon due to weariness. But tonight I want to be well rested, so that I can make a good show for the viscount, and finally end this business.

I had considered asking one of my girls if I could stay with them. But I can’t very well sleep in the barracks with Aveline. I feel a little awkward asking Isabela since our night together, though she hasn’t said anything one way or the other. And Merrill, well, her house always has a strange smell, though the alienage has the advantage of being close to Gamlen’s. I’m at the Hanged Man already, I could ask Varric. Fenris rambles around in that huge mansion, surely he has a bedroom to share. Anders’s clinic lacks ambiance, but at least it’s always clean.

What if I just drank myself silly and showed up hungover? Hungover in whatever Aveline considers a suitable dress?

XVI: I like(d) it at first

I had caught Merrill before she made it home, and asked if I could stay with her. She happily agreed. Now I am lying on the floor of a cramped house that reeks of some strange herb. Something elvish, I’m sure. I don’t remember Merrill being so chatty. I guess the fear and the strangeness of the Deep Roads caused her to clam up. Not now, though. No, not now.

I rest my head on my arms and stare at the ceiling. I tap a beat with my foot and count silently.

“It’s so nice to have someone here! The alienage is so strange, how we’re all shut up in these little houses, and the vhenadahl sits alone at night. With the clan, we all camp together, there’s always someone to talk to or to turn to if you are scared. Not that many people turned to me, since I was the First. But still, all these heartbeats nearby, it was comforting. Especially if there were halla nearby!”

I do not mean to be ungrateful of course. It is kind of Merrill to let me stay. And she is right, in her way. I don’t want to be alone at Gamlen’s, listening only to my own heart, my own breath. She and I are more alike than I realized.

“I know this will sound silly, Hawke, but I liked being in the Deep Roads, at first. I liked being in a large camp with everyone. I liked listening to everyone sleep, and the clatter of everyone awakening. I was surrounded by rock, yet it seemed a little bit like home.”

“It is nice, sometimes, to be with other people,” I say. “Especially when the darkness is a little too dark.”

There is quiet for a few moments. Then, “Oh! You probably couldn’t tell. I nodded.”

I smile. After turning onto my stomach, I say, “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Of course, Hawke! You know, hospitality. . .” She keeps talking as I close my eyes. The lilt of her voice is soothing. Maybe, if we get the estate, I will move Merrill in, and have her talk me to sleep. Being in this room with her is not the same (the same as what? How many times have I shared a room with a Dalish elf?), but it is nice. I can sleep, I can dream, I can nightmare. I can, for once, for a little while, not worry about Mother or Bethany.

XVII. A Night Out After the Viscount

“Hawke, are you feeling okay?” Varric asks, cocking his head to one side, widening and narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“Well, you’re wearing a dress.”

“I’m celebrating a special occasion!” I smile and take a sip of my drink. As Varric raises his own, I go in for the kill. “Besides, it’s Aveline’s dress.” He slowly lowers it again.

The dress is actually quite nice. It is of the basic bliaut style, with a laced bodice over a simple skirt and puffy-sleeved top. A wrapped belt completes the look, all in shades of green. I imagine it must actually look quite stunning on Aveline, with her red hair, fair skin, and green eyes. It looks okay on me, and I’m pretty monochromatic.

Others join us at our Hanged Man table, everyone other than Aveline expressing wonder at my clothing. Aveline pleads with me once again not to spill anything on it. And then I deliver my news.

“Dear friends. Thank you for joining me tonight – and for your companionship over the last year. Your friendship means a lot to me. After a lot of. . .sorrow recently, I am happy to be celebrating with you. The viscount has accepted my mother’s petition. Soon, I’ll be departing for Hightown.”

There are cheers and slaps to the back and high fives and well wishes. I smile and laugh and say, “And of course, you all are welcome at my house any time. I’ll miss Lowtown enough, I don’t want to miss you.”

“How did you do it?” Varric asks.

I hold my chin high. “I reminded the viscount of the good service I had done for him. And I showed him my cash.”

He crosses his arms, but is smiling. “So you owe it in part to me.”

“I suppose so! Well, I’ll fix up the spare room for you.”

“A room! Surely a fancy Hightown mansion will have many rooms. Perfect for getting into trouble, right Fenris?” Isabela says with a mischievous grin. The elf looks away.

“Could we have a fancy dress party? All of my books indicate that humans love fancy dress parties,” Merrill says.

I pretend to pout. “This isn’t fancy enough?”

Anders leans in close and says, “Don’t worry. We’ll get Bethany home soon, and she can share this good fortune, too.” Always a dark cloud, isn’t there? I nod and reply, “I hope so.”

But then I smile and tell them drinks are on me. I plan on having many drinks. Many.

XVIII. Dreams of the Drunk

It is a very long night, full of ale and stories. Before Aveline leaves, I return her dress, thanking her again. She is happy that the dress is unscathed; I am happy to be in my normal clothes.

“You’ll visit often?” I ask, leaning on her shoulder.

“Of course, Hawke. And you’ll be closer to the barracks now. Stay out of trouble.”

“Always. Always always always always.”

She shakes her head. “Tonight, too, Hawke. Stay out of trouble tonight.”

I put my arm around her waist. “How could I get in trouble? I’m here.”

“That’s the problem Hawke.” She pauses. I snuggle closer. How does Aveline smell so nice? She’s always running around. She should smell like sweat. Aveline shifts her weight, and the next thing I know, she has thrown me over her shoulder. I laugh as she marches back to the table.

“Isabela. . .oh, for the love of. Anders, you take her.” Aveline plunks me down on the bench, arranging me against Anders. Varric has disappeared and Merrill is watching Isabela with interest. Isabela is sitting on Fenris’s lap.

I reach out a hand to Aveline. “I love you, Aveline.”

“I love you, too, Hawke. But please stay out of trouble.”

“We should get you home soon,” Anders says.

“Home with you?” I ask brightly, reaching for my tankard.

He gently pushes my hand away. “No, to your uncle’s. You only have a few more nights there. You should make them count.”

“I’ll need more ale if I’m going there.” I brighten as I manage to grab my drink and Varric returns to the table. “My favorite dwarf!”

“Hawke, it never ceases to amaze me that you can’t hold your alcohol.”

I set my drink down and fold my hands in my lap. “I can’t be good at everything.” Varric laughs.

“Oh dear,” Merrill says, turning her back on Isabela and Fenris. There is grinding and groping and perhaps other g words.

“A lot of our get-togethers seem to end this way,” Anders says. “I didn’t mind when I was younger. . .I don’t really mind now, actually. Justice does, though.”

“I suppose you can’t do. . .that as a spirit,” Merrill says.

“A shame --” I start to say, and then manage to spill my ale. “Now that’s a shame.”

Anders stands up and grabs my arm. “Yup. Let’s get you home, Hawke. Soon you can spill your drinks in finer establishments, but that’s enough for tonight.”

I don’t fight him, instead waving to my friends. “Good bye! Good night! Thank you! I love you!”

Sometimes I like being drunk. Sometimes it is nice to be happy and light-hearted and in love. Sometimes the hangover is worth it.

Everyone else voices their good byes, even Isabela and Fenris. I stumble a little as I walk next to Anders, but I like that, too. In my real life, I have to be precise, I have to be sure. When I’m drunk, I don’t have to worry about it; the choice has been removed.

“Anders, I’m fine, Gamlen’s house isn’t far. You can go.”

He shakes his head. “Aveline would have my head if something happened. Your mother, too, I’m sure.”

“Aveline is great. My mother. I don’t think she’d notice.”

“Of course she would.”

The introspection that comes along with alcohol, that I don’t like so much. Mother would be sad if something happened. She loves me and cares about me and all that. Her emotions just get the better of her.

“Mother is a complex person. Her feelings are complex. Our relationship is complex. At least soon we’ll have a bigger house. That will make it easier to hide from each other.”

“That’s my Hawke. Look on the bright side.”

“Who wants to talk about that? Mothers. Family. Let’s talk about you.”

“Me?” Anders sounds slightly alarmed. But he is saved! “We can talk soon, Hawke. But here we are. Safe and sound.”

“Want to come inside?”

“I should go. I don’t think your mother or Gamlen would appreciate seeing me. . . .”

“True, but that wasn’t the question.”

“Hawke.”

Suddenly all of my emotions run together: love and introspection, affection and fear, certainty and self-doubt.

“Anders, do you love me?”

“I care about you very much.”

I nod. That will do.

“Good night, Anders.”

“Good night, Hawke.”

“Be safe!”

“I will.”

Inside, I make up my bed. Soon I will have a real one, not just a collection of mats and blankets and pillows! What a thought. Will Mother invite Gamlen to live with us? What a thought.

I curl up on my side. There’s one other thing I like about alcohol. When I’ve had enough, I’m out like -----


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8, Sometime Before Act 2**

XIX. Restoration

Mother and I have moved up and out and into our Hightown estate. Gamlen did not join us. I do not know whether Mother asked him or not. I don’t really care. Well. I care a little. Gamlen is not a good man, exactly, but he still got us in to Kirkwall, and gave us a place to stay. He could have turned us away. He could have turned Bethany in. (Not that I’m convinced he didn’t.)

Wait. Am I thinking fondly of Gamlen? Do I actually miss him? Clearly I am starting to lose my sanity, my heart, my senses, my rationality. There really must be something in the water here. Some spell left by the departing Tevinters, perhaps.

I have never lived in a house so large. It’s beautiful, airy, and light. Mother has her own room, as do I. We have one set up for Bethany, just in case. And there is a guest room, and servants’ quarters and a kitchen and a living room and a library. Anyway. It’s not as if it is any secret what rooms a house might have. But here is a secret: Mother smiles now. It is quite a sight to behold. So much has been taken away and finally something has been restored to her.

For the first time in my life, I have my own room. It is not my own because someone is away or missing or ill or spending the night elsewhere. The room is mine, and it is my choice who gets to be here. There is a fireplace, so I will always be warm. A window so I will always have air. A desk, a trunk, a wardrobe. Clothes and knick-knacks.

The bed is wonderful. Very comfortable and nice-smelling. How many years have I slept on wooden floors or the cold, wet, hard, muddy, alive ground? In my jammies and tucked in, I diligently try to go to sleep. But regardless of comfort, I stare at the ceiling, as is my custom, waiting for sleep. I should add some murals or a tapestry, anything so that I do not have to concentrate solely on my own thoughts.

I wonder what beds are like in the Circle? Do the mages have bunk beds or cots or bedrolls? Are the beds all arranged in on large room, or is there any kind of privacy? Bethany always slept well, but maybe now she doesn’t – not for any bad reason, I hope, but because she finally has some kindred spirits with whom she can really share everything. Not a literal spirit of course.

But maybe it’s hard for her to sleep, because of all those other people. Maybe with so many mages tapped into the Fade, bad dreams or strange dreams run rampant. And if there are children in the Circle, that can’t help matters. Children are noisy. Not that Bethany herself was.

It’s not very noisy here. There is not much noise at all. Not like Lowtown. In Lothering, it was often quiet at night, too, but the quiet was different. The silence in Lothering was due to sleeping animals and farmers. It was a comfortable silence that is underscored by small noises: heartbeats and lungs and sighs. In Hightown, we are all sealed within our own homes, and it seems even the birds roost elsewhere. Not that I’m complaining, really. I don’t miss the arguments or brawls.

What do I miss? Who do I miss?

This is getting me nowhere. Time to do something else for a while. Some pacing in front of the fire sounds good.

It doesn’t seem all that long ago that Bethany and I were sneaking into the cellar to. . . . The cellar. I haven’t been down there since moving in. I wonder if the secret way in is still intact, or if it was closed while the Viscount was in possession of the estate? And I think that secret entrance was in Darktown, near Ander’s clinic. Hmm.

I quickly lace up my boots and grab my daggers, not bothering to change out of my pajamas. Since my pajamas consist of a shirt and pants, they cover everything important. Even better, they are light and soft. I think it will be refreshing to walk around without pounds and pounds of armor.

I lightly pad down the stairs and creep to the back of the house. After some searching, I find the cellar door. Quickly down to the next floor. There is no evidence left of my visit all those months ago. In fact, it’s fairly clean – no boxes, no spider webs. I can’t wait to start storing things down here and forgetting about them.

It is dark, though, and it takes me some time to find the final door, the secret door. This part is not so well kept; there is crumbling wood and loose rocks. I use the key and then gently push on the door, then push harder with my shoulder, until it finally gives way. It had been blocked by rocks on the outside. But now I am free and there is noise and movement again. Since this is Darktown, the air is not only full of sounds but also sadness. And darkness. No one pays attention to me, even though I have just emerged from a hidden door. No one pays attention to the woman clad in pajamas. I suppose that is the upside of sorrow: if you are consumed by it, you probably aren’t paying too much attention to anyone else.

I was right, though; I can see Ander’s lamp in the distance. Not far at all. But I should turn back. I don’t need to bother him now that I’ve sated my curiosity. I don’t really have anything to talk about. I’m just feeling a little shaky. I’m not sick or anything; I don’t need him to heal me. So there’s no reason to visit. But I am already here. Wait, I’m already there. Okay, then.

Anders sit as his desk with pen in hand, his back to me. As I enter, he tenses and calls out, “Who is there? What do you need?”

“It’s me, it’s Hawke,” I say as I shut the clinic’s door.

“Hawke! Are you alright?” He quickly crosses the distance to join me. I notice ink smudged on his fingers.

“Oh yes, I just thought I’d take a walk. Enjoy the sights, sounds, and fresh air of Darktown.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You appear to be in your pajamas.”

“Well I. . .I. . .” suddenly my bluff and bluster leaves me, drains out of me into the floor and flows away, beyond my reach. I feel very, very. . . . “I’m tired.”

He frowns briefly, but then – well, he doesn’t smile, exactly. Returns to a more neutral expression. “Come with me.” He grabs my hand and leads me to one of his cots. “Wait here.”  
I hunch over, placing my head in my hands. What’s wrong? I should be, need to be upbeat and jovial, smiling and sarcastic. My head feels cloudy. And those clouds swirl, like a storm.

Anders returns. He drapes a blanket around my shoulders, and hands me a small mug. Warm blanket. Warm tea. Those warm amber eyes.

“Usually when you visit me here, I have some terrible secret to share with you. I think it’s your turn.”

I take a sip of the tea. “But if I tell you my secrets I’ll betray my cool façade.”

He laughs, but turns serious again; he can do that so quickly. “That is true. I promise I won’t think less of you.”

Another sip. “I really need to just hold it together.”

He places a hand on my leg. “A trade then. I’ll hold it together this time.”

I stare off into the distance. Words, words where are you? “I was at home, and thinking how nice it was, and how hard I’ve worked for it, and all I’ve lost, and the estate is nice, but I don’t think it makes up for all that loss.”

He nods.

“My mother is happy, a little bit. But I’m not. I should be! I have a house. I miss Bethany. I miss. . .a lot of good people died at Ostagar. Died in Lothering. My brother and Aveline’s husband died on our way here, I think about them a lot, when I am trying to sleep. And my father died before the Blight, and sometimes I miss our life in Lothering, not that it was ever easy.”

Anders inhales, and I think he will speak, but he remains silent. Silent except for the beating of his heart and the breathing of his lungs.

I think I just want to. . . “I think I just want to. . .” and as I speak, my worst fears are realized: tears are forming. I guess every prisoner will attempt an escape.

“It sounds like it’s been a difficult few years,” he says, putting an arm around my shoulders.

For a moment, a large dragon pierces my thoughts: the Witch of the Wilds. “Life is a catch. Catch it while you can.”

I wipe my eyes. “The years are difficult. Life is difficult! But that’s what makes it interesting and exciting and worthwhile. I suppose.”

“Sometimes it would be good if life was a little less interesting and exciting.”

I nod. I am about to voice my agreement, but I feel as if the wind has been knocked out of me. Everything I had put out of my head: Father, Ostagar, the Blight, Ser Wesley, Carver, Bethany, a year of servitude, countless physical injuries. These thoughts and worries and pains have formed into one mighty foe and punched me, squarely and severely. I gasp for breath.

Pull it together, Hawke. Hold it in, Marian. Everyone is counting on you. Why are you upset? Bad things happen all the time. Many people deal with worse things. Look at Anders. Look at Merrill, Fenris, Isabela. . . . Okay, maybe they mope sometimes, especially Anders and Fenris, but that doesn’t mean you should. Tears won’t help anything.

But. I. Can’t. Breathe.

I simultaneously act offensively and defensively by burying my head in my hands and sobbing. My rationality, guilt, and fear cannot stop it. My body, if not my brain or heart, wills it. And some small voice (my own? Bethany’s? Anders’s?) tells me it will be over soon and I can carry on.

How can I do this? Cry, keep it to together, fall apart, stay strong, be supportive, be supported, problem solve, help them all, help myself. I don’t want to rest. I do want to rest. Rest rest rest rest.

Anders holds me close as I cry it out. He is a strange man, with his strong convictions and surprising vulnerability, his melancholy and mania and light-hearted smiles. I am glad I am here tonight, even if I am a little embarrassed. I do not wish to be dramatic, but he has healed my wounds and now heals my soul, just a little bit. Okay, that was a little melodramatic. His strength and silence are a comfort though.

Finally I come down and calm down and breathe again. The sounds of Darktown flood my ears, and I can feel the heat in my face. I don’t actually want to rest. I’d like to sleep, one day, for a few hours. But I have work to do. I have to see what” the rest” is, what’s next.

Finally the absurdity of the situation hits me: sneaking out of the house, prowling around Darktown in my pajamas, seeking out the company of an apostate mage. I start to laugh. Anders drops his arm and leans back, smiling.

“Feeling better?”

I nod. “This is. . .this is pretty crazy, isn’t? I’ve been in Kirkwall too long. The crazy has gotten to me.”

Anders evaluates me thoughtfully. “My official diagnosis is yes. And there’s no cure.”

“Just as I feared.” I readjust the blanket and grab my tea. “Maybe I’ll be lucky, and become queen of the lunatics.”

He shakes his head. “This is the Free Marches. The best you can do is viscount.”

I stand up and arrange the blanket like an elegant cape. “Viscount Marian Hawke-Amell the First. The sanest of the insane. Or vice-versa.”

Anders shrugs. “Well, surely you couldn’t make things worse. Too worse.”

“I appreciate your support, Seneschal Anders. I look forward to your wise council.”

He stands and bows. “I look forward to working under you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He pauses. A long pause. Too long – too long for a joking yes or stern no. But he speaks, and it is just, “Yes, I do.”

I nod. “Terrific! Terrific.” I sit down again. I want to say more silly things, but a yawn overtakes me. Then Anders yawn, and then I yawn again. Uh oh.

“Do you want to stay? I have an extra pillow in the back.”

“Yes. But. Anders. . .Anders, can I sleep with you?”

He blinks. “Hawke! We --”

“Keep your feathers on. I don’t mean that. I mean. . .I came out tonight because I was alone. I’m not. . .I don’t want to be alone tonight. There are too many thoughts in the dark.”

Anders takes a deep breath and nods. He stands and extends a hand which I accept. He leads me to a small room at the back of the clinic. It is outfitted with a small bed and large piles of books and papers. An embroidered pillow sits on the center of bed, and the colors warm the room. Anders removes it and reverently places it on a high shelf. He pulls the top blanket back with a flourish. “Viscount.”

I smile and sit on the edge of the bed so that I can remove my boots. He does likewise, removing his coat as well. Wearily I slip under the covers. The bed is not as comfortable as the one left behind in Hightown. But it is not as empty either.

I snuggle against him. I want to say something, give thanks, reveal a memory, something. The best I can do is “Goodnight, Anders.”

“Goodnight, Hawke.”

And then I sleep. Really sleep. It has been a long time. So much sleep have I lost. It is just a tiny bit, but finally something has been restored. This is not a drunken stupor or a coma that I won’t remember but sweet peace. It cannot last, but I will cling to it for now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9, Sometime Before Act II**

XX. For a Change

Mother sits at the desk writing furiously while I sit in front of the fire, reading slowly. We haven’t yet heard anything about or from Bethany. Mother is appealing to the Viscount, Meredith, Orsino, Elthina – everyone she can think of in order to learn something. In some ways, the Circle here is less strict; eventually we will be allowed to send letters and maybe visit. But it’s not been made clear how long that will take. For now, Mother just wants to know that Bethany is okay. Anders has told me that he’s learned from his contacts that she is doing fine, and came through her Harrowing with flying colors.

I haven’t told Mother this because I enjoy having a secret. I can rationalize it away, if I wish, that telling her would worry her or that she might suggest I try some sort of rescue or to sneak something in or who knows what. But honestly, I am thrilled to know something that she doesn’t, especially good news.

The room is silent save for scribbling and page turning, so the knock at the door is extra loud. It scared me. I am always surprised to find someone at the door, since most of my friends didn’t like visiting at Gamlen’s. I never know who to expect. But even without expecting anyone, I was still surprised to find two dwarfs on my doorstep: Bodahn and Sandal.

“Messare Hawke! I don’t know if you--”

I smile. “Bodahn! And Sandal. It is good to see you. Of course I remember.”

Bodahn nods. “Wonderful, wonderful messare. I told you that I would find a way to repay you. I realized I can’t put a price on what you did for my boy. So I have come to offer my services.”

“Enchantment!” Sandal happily exclaims.

“Oh, that’s very kind. I don’t think I have anything at the moment that needs enchanting. Perhaps when I do, I can find you in the market--”

Bodahn holds up his hand to stop me. “No, no, messare. I mean I would like to offer our services as servants. Surely a house as big as this one needs a steward.”

I am so taken aback that I literally take a step back. “Oh! Well.” I pause. It would be nice to know that someone was home with Mother while I am out adventuring. And there’s plenty of room. So I lead them into the house.

“Mother! I’d like you to meet Bodahn Fezzic and Sandal. They’ll be staying with us. For a while. Bodahn, this is my mother, Leandra Amell.”

Mother quickly stands and shakes Bodahn’s hand, shooting me a quizzical look. “Lovely to meet you.”  
“My boy and I are at your service, Mistress Amell.” Mother keeps shaking his hand and nodding her head.

“You know, Mother. Stewarding and such.”

“Oh yes. Yes. Of course! Marian, fetch some linens, and I’ll show them to their rooms.” Mother leads them to the set rooms by the kitchen while I collect sheets and pillows from the downstairs cupboard.

This is not what I expected, but it is nice. A nice surprise for a change! Imagine that.

XXI. Basketcase

As Mother sets up Bodahn and Sandal, there is another knock at the door. I leave the linens with her and rush to answer it. Bodahn starts to protest, but I am gone before he can get too far. Whatever surprise is in store next, I want it over with.

If Bodahn was the last person I expected at my door, Fenris is the penultimate person. But here he is, holding a small basket no less.

“Fenris! What a surprise! Is everything alright?”

“Hawke. I realized I hadn’t been to see you yet, even though I live nearby. I wanted to rectify that, so I brought a housewarming gift.” He peers over my shoulder; I am still blocking the doorway. “Is this a bad time?”

“What? Oh, no, no of course not. Come in.”

“Who is it, Marian?” Mother asks, emerging from the back of the house.

“Mother, you remember my friend Fenris. He’s here for a visit.” She nods.

“Mistress Amell. I wanted to bring you and your daughter a housewarming gift.” He proffers the basket.

“How thoughtful. I’ll leave this with two – I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll be in the kitchen. It was nice seeing you again!” She bustles off.

Fenris watches her. “Is your mother feeling alright?”

“It’s been an exciting evening here! When I was in the Deep Roads, I saved a dwarven boy, and now he and his father are here. To stay. As my manservants.” Well, it is thrilling to use the word “manservant.” Move on, Hawke. “But Mother is taking care of them. Would you care to sit?”

He follows me to the couch. “I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about Bethany.”

I cross my arms. “Are you? She was a dangerous apostate.”

He shakes his head. “She is a good woman.”

I decide to tease a little more. “You mean for a mage.”

“No, in general. While I know magic is dangerous, Bethany is the first mage I have known who is. . .a good person. I know it hurts you that she is gone, and I am sorry for that.”

I pat his hand. “Thank you, Fenris. Magic can be dangerous. But Bethany would never hurt a fly. A spider perhaps.” I am quiet for a moment as I debate what else to add.

He nods again. “There was one other reason I’m here tonight. It was a year ago today that we met.”

I move my book to the floor and lean back. “A year already! You should have said so. We could have had a party.”

He smiles. “I do not think your other friends like me very much. I thought it would be more enjoyable for everyone if it was just the two of us.”

I don’t know how to respond. It’s true. “You know Fenris, I think you would have gotten along with my brother.”

“I didn’t realize you had a brother.”

I tuck my legs beneath, trying to decide how much sad story to relate. “Carver was Bethany’s twin. He was killed on our way here, when we were fleeing from Lothering. He was a real law and order type. Like Aveline but more severe.”

“I am sorry for you loss. I’m sure your brother was a good man.”

“He had his moments. . . . . What is in the basket?”

He hands it to me. I peel back the cloth that served as wrapping and find some bottles inside: Tevinter wine.

“It is made from the tears of slaves.”

“Is it?” I never know when he is kidding. “Well, let me get some glasses.”

In the kitchen, I find Mother and Bodahn sharing some tea, while Sandal drinks milk.

“Your mother is a lovely woman,” Bodahn tells me.

Mother smiles. “Bodahn is the most charming man!”

I stretch, grabbing the wine glasses from a high shelf. “I’m glad you too are getting along. I’ll be in the solar, sharing wine with Fenris.”

“Have fun, dear. So Bodahn, tell me. . . .”

Fenris is reading my book when I return. He raises an eyebrow. I shrug. “Isabela lent it to me.” I hand him a glass and he pours for both of us.

“She is an interesting woman. I was about to say complex, but I do not know if that’s accurate. Anyway, a toast, Hawke. To. . . .” but he falters.

“To unknown pasts and detailed futures. And complex women.” I think I have learned something from all my time at the Hanged Man. We take a drink. Perhaps because of the tears, the wine tastes particularly delightful.

“How do you like Hightown?” he asks me.

“Well, it’s nice to relax and to sleep in a real bed, but I miss the grime.”

He chuckles. “It looks very. . .clean in here. Have you spent a lot of time decorating?”

I laugh. “No, this is all Mother’s doing. I spend most of my time just getting in her way.”

“You have a way of doing that. Of getting in the way.”

Now it is my turn to raise my eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“I mean, that is. . . .”

“How much wine have you had to drink tonight, Fenris?” His glass is empty.

“I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

I cross my arms. “I am glad you are here. We have something to celebrate! Just go back a few sentences and start again.”

“You have a way of being places.”

“Ah, yes, I see. Well, no, I don’t.”

He pours another glass. “I am glad I met you Hawke.”

I take a sip. “Well, that sentence is logical, but I’m still not sure it makes sense.”

“You should drink more.”

“Now that makes sense!”

We both drink more. The alcohol makes me giddy and melancholy, so I tell him stories from my childhood. He tries to tell me stories, but grows angry in the process. Every story either contains some horrible abuse by the magisters or some detail that cannot be remembered. Eventually he falls silent and I do my best to fill up the room. Having run out of sunny childhood memories, I start telling him fairy tales. When I forget details, I make them up. Every story ends with the heroine slaying a dragon.

I lay down on the floor while he stretches out on the couch. Climbing the stairs is a task I simply cannot complete.

“Hawke, could I visit you again sometime?”

“Of course. But I cannot decide if I should tell you to leave the wine at home or to bring more.”  
He replies with a snore.

I turn my back to the couch and stare into the fire. Even when he is soft, he is sharp. The wine has put such a buzz in my head that I cannot delve any more into the Fenris situation.

XXII. An Idea

When I awake, I am still on the floor, only now covered by a blanket. Mother sits on the couch drinking tea.

“Did you know that your friend can make pancakes? He made a lovely breakfast before leaving.”

I sit up and rub my eyes. “No. We hadn’t yet reached the pancake stage of our relationship.”

“Your friends are very strange, Marian, but it seems they have good hearts. You inspire them. You always inspired Bethany and Carver.”

I fear I might blush. “Thank you, Mother.”

“I worry about you, and I worry about the time you spend with them, and I worry what others might think. But they are good people.”

“I think so.”

“So I was thinking, the Midsummer Festival is coming up. Why don’t we have a party?”

I quickly get up and put a hand to her forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

She laughs, but the final laugh turns into a sigh. “I used to think about living here, with your father and you children, and what that would be like. And once we were in Kirkwall, I thought about sharing the house with you and Bethany, and what that would be like. This is not what I envisioned.”

“An understatement!”

“Yes. I thought, once we have the estate, we can do things right. We can celebrate and be happy. And I think we should still do that. You are right – your brother and sister would not want us moping around forever. Aveline feels like a member of the family, so I thought we should have her over. And then – well, Bethany was friends with all of your friends. I mean, you girls are friends with all of those people. So. . . so they are family, too. So let us celebrate being together now, because we do not know what changes the future will bring.”

“I think that sounds wonderful, Mother. I think Bethany would approve. And perhaps we can make that cake Father always liked.”

Mother stands up. “Yes. I’ll leave the ingredients to you. I’ll start on the invitations.”

XXIII. Invitations

Gamlen grumbles, but agrees.

Aveline accepts.

Anders frets, but I capably convince him.

Merrill merrily makes plans to attend.

Fenris moodily broods and then says yes.

Varric charmingly chooses to come.

Isabela is intrigued.

XXIV. Preparations

Since returning from the Deep Roads, I have spent my time relaxing. I read, I practice my technique, I visit my friends. Since Mother suggested this party, I have thrown myself into planning and preparing: decorating, shopping, cooking. Well, watching Mother cook. And decorate. I’m best at shopping.

The Midsummer Festival in Ferelden involved a lot of fire, flowers, and feasting followed by dancing and drinking. Being a city, and not country side, Kirkwall doesn’t have as many fires or flowers. So our celebration will be a bit restrained. But we will still burn sweet-smelling herbs for luck, and we will eat and drink and dance. Maybe we can jump next to the fireplace instead of leaping over the actual bonfire?

I have decorated the house with what flowers I can find, laying them across the mantle and jumbled in vases. I had woven some into garlands, but Sandal “helped” me by taking them apart again. Now they are just spread out on the tables. Mother, meanwhile, has outdone herself in the kitchen. I never got the sense, as a child, that she liked to cook. She did it because it had to be done. But even now, I’m not sure I could tell you what my mother likes. But it does seem she enjoys having a houseful of guests to care for.

Ah. Poor Mother. All she has left to care for is Gamlen and me. No wonder she wanted a party. She wanted to show some hospitality and kindness to people who aren’t complete disappointments.

Anyway, Mother has made a multitude of cakes and roasts and platters of vegetables. All is ready. Let the siege begin.

XXV. Pick a Party Plant

Aveline is always punctual and arrives first; Fenris soon after. Varric, Isabela, and Merrill arrive together. Anders is last – well, clearly Uncle Gamlen will be last. Bodahn answers the door; each guest, looking surprised by new manservant, is ushered in.

Mother glows, offering food and drink, pulling out extra cushions. She doesn’t really talk to anyone, other than Aveline. But at least she is smiling.

“Thanks for inviting me, Hawke! I’ve never been to a human celebration before,” Merrill says.

“You’re welcome, Merrill. Do the Dalish celebrate Midsummer?”

“Of course! Since it is the longest day of the year, it is the day we are safest from the Dread Wolf. There’s food, of course, and stories, and contests of skill.”

“Contests of skill, hmm?” Isabela interjects.

“I don’t think Mother would approve.”

“I was thinking with daggers or cards, not--”

“I still don’t think Mother would approve. Or Aveline. Anyway, Merrill, perhaps you could share a story with us later?” I desperately hope to redirect the conversation.

Merrill smiles. “I would like that.”

Varric has joined us now. “I think Isabela is on to something. What about a storytelling contest?”

I cross my arms. “Surely you would win.”

“That’s why it’s a good idea.”  
“Arm wrestling?” Aveline asks, flexing her bicep.

Isabela corrals Fenris and Anders, placing an arm around both. “What about--”

“A brood-off?” Varric interjects.

“I’ve been practicing the lute,” Anders offers.

All eyes turn to Fenris. “I could. . .uh. . .”

Isabela to the rescue. “The way you handle a sword is most impressive.”

“You are all very talented,” Mother soothes. “Why compete? This is a time to be thankful, because winter will be here soon enough. So let us enjoy what we have.”

“Well said, Mistress Amell,” Aveline says.

“Once Gamlen arrives, we can burn our herbs. I’ll get them ready.” Mother bustles away.

“Burning herbs? Is this some kind of magic?” Fenris asks.

“That can be our contest, who can burn the best. Anyway, it’s tradition. Choose an herb and burn it for luck. I guess it’s magic for people who aren’t mages. Um, let’s see. Lizard’s tongue is for gambling, so we’ll save that for Gamlen. Alfafa is for money. Andrigold for healing. Astoria for romance. Cat’s breath for hope. Barley for fertility, so we’ll probably just leave that one out. I don’t know, Mother knows them all. You’ll choose the herb that represents what you are most concerned with or most desire and then throw it onto the fire. And then you go back to the eating and drinking part of the celebration.”

“When I was a girl, we always burned sweet lime, for strength,” Aveline says.

“Carver usually went for strength, Bethany for protection. I usually just picked something that would smell nice, like blue drops. Anders, I don’t suppose you did anything like this in the Circle?”

He shakes his head. “We had enough real magic to contend with.”

“Do you keep it a secret, or anything? Like a birthday wish?” Merrill asks.

“No, you share your hopes. Because then you can all work together, to make them come true for everyone,” Aveline answers.

“You Fereldens are so cute,” Isabela says. “It’s too bad we have to make our own luck.”

Bodahn interrupts, ushering in Gamlen.

“Let me fetch Mother,” I say, and retrieve her from the kitchen, along with the herbs.

We gather together in front of the fire.

Mother explains, as she has since I was a child, “There are four parts of the year: winter, spring, summer, and fall. We celebrate the planting and the harvest, the new year and the old year, the long days and the short days. Today, we enjoy the long warm days of summer, but we know winter will be here soon. We’ll celebrate being together, and burn these herbs to bring us luck and protection and love and whatever else we desire.”

“That was lovely, Leandra,” Gamlen says. “Just like our mother used to say.”

Mother smiles. “All right then children, everyone, let’s think about what we need for the coming months. Choose an herb, and we’ll all throw them in together.”

I take a step back, letting Mother explain to everyone what the different plants symbolize. Aveline joins me.

“For the most part, I am happy in Kirkwall. But sometimes I miss these small rituals. They are comforting,” she says.

“Me too.” A beat. “What will you choose?”

She laughs. “I’m not sure. I suppose I’ll just go for strength, as I always have. Look at them. Leandra looks like she is passing out presents on Midwinter Morning.”

Indeed. Our companions all seem to be younger, their eyes bright, their shoulders less hunched. They point and Mother smiles and hands out a blade of something, or repeats a story.

“You will have to help me remember this, Aveline. So that I can tell Bethany. So that I can remember there have been some good times.”

Aveline smiles. “Of course, Hawke.”

Mother approaches us. “Girls?”

Aveline takes some redberry leaves (strength). I hesitate: what do I want? Strength, protection, money, love? Well, it doesn’t really matter. Isabela is right about luck. So I do as I have always done: blue drops. They smell so nice!

“On the count of three!” Mother says. She counts down, and we all cast our plants into the fire, even Bodahn and Sandal. I did not get a good look at anyone else’s choice. Which is just as well, I suppose.

Had we made this into a contest, Sandal would have won. He shouted “Boom!” as he hurled his selection into the fire. Never a dull moment.

XXVI. Party On

The night goes on. Merrill shares a story from her people, Varric shares some of his. Fenris even gets in on the act, sharing some stories from Tevinter and the Qunari. Anders somehow finds my lute and plays a few shaky bars. Isabela challenges Aveline to an arm wrestling match and very nearly wins. Mother spends most of her time chatting with Gamlen and Bodahn.

I enjoy it all.

As the fire begins to gutter, Bodahn excuses himself and heads to bed. Gamlen departs. Mother starts yawning.

Aveline takes me aside. “Hawke, the guard will be out in force tonight. It would probably be best for Merrill and Anders to stay here.”

“Of course! Everyone can stay here. We did drink. . . we drank an awful lot.”

“I need to head back, but I appreciate the offer. Keep ‘em safe, Hawke.”

Varric has already fallen asleep on the couch (so much boasting! so little brew!). When I return from fetching a blanket for him, Isabela intercepts me. “Can I stay, too?”

“Of course.”

“And Fenris?”

“Certainly.”

She smiles and her eyes glint. “In the same room?”

I let out a sigh. “Yes, just keep it down. My mother is. . .Mother her limits. You can have the room off the library, down the hall, up the stairs, to the left.”

“Thanks!” She winks at me. She grabs Fenris’s arm. He looks a bit surprised. “I have something I want to show you!”

“What could you want to show me, Isabela?”

“You’ll see!” She drags him down the hall.

I cross my arms. Anders joins me; we watch them disappear. “The parties never ended this way when I was a kid.”

“I bet they did,” he says, “and you didn’t notice.”

“Hmmm.”

“Notice what?” Merrill asks.

“Nothing at all. Now, shall we get ready for bed? I think we still have two extra rooms, or if you want to just sleep on the couch--”

“Ooh, I’m not ready to sleep yet! It’s been such an exciting evening,” Merrill says, surprising me. I had assumed we’d have worn her out by now.

“It has been nice,” Anders adds.

“Let’s grab some snacks and some tea, and we can continue in my room. Then we won’t have to worry about waking the whole house.”

We pack supplies, and are soon sitting in front of the fire in my room. I cannot help but feel like a teenager, the few times I had friends over. Actually, sitting here with two mages, it does feel like the old days.

“Is there something you’d like to talk about, Merrill?” I ask.

She crosses her legs. “Oh, no. I’m just not ready to go to sleep yet.”

I lean back. “I should have grabbed some more ale. This tea is too calming.”

“So Hawke, you did this sort of thing every year?” Anders asks.

“Yes. Usually it’s a community celebration. Bonfires lit in the fields or streets. It was a good time to meet up with a handsome boy or pretty girl and sneak away for a bit.” I laugh.

“What did you – Oh.” Merrill is catching on much more quickly these days.

“The Circle had the sneaking around part! Just not the fun stuff.”

“Oh, the sneaking was pretty fun.”

“Let me rephrase that. . . .”

I fear the melancholy of my memories will overtake me. “Well, never mind. This is better, anyway, sitting here with you two.”

“We should do this again at Midwinter!” Merrill says.

I nod. “We should. We have spent so much time on the road together! We should spend more time at home.”

Merrill nods, then yawns.

“Maybe it is time for sleep now?”

Anders moves to get up. “Where should I – where should we --”

I shake my head. “Just stay here. The bed is big enough.”

“Do you mean that?” Merrill asks, eyes widening.

“Yes.” From the bureau, I fetch some extra pillows. I have some extra night clothes as well. “Neither of you are my size, but I think these will fit.”

In bed, I am in the middle, a mage on either side. Merrill is out like a light. Anders takes his time to get comfortable, but he is still asleep before I am.

This is getting dangerous, Marian. Mages are dangerous, friendships are dangerous. But it is nice. Is “it” (friendship?) nice due to the dangerousness, or just due to being. . .nice?

I sleep fitfully, but that is nothing new. What is new is being awoken by a kick or a snore, or someone turning over. Well, that’s not really new, either; it really is like the old days. It is comforting. I don’t sleep well, but I sleep well.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10, Sometime before Act II

XXVII. When will I learn Isabela is full of lies?

The day had started pleasantly enough: breakfast with Mother, taking care of a few chores, lunch, exercise, then relaxing with a book. I have just started a new chapter when I hear a knock, footsteps, and see Bodahn out of the corner of my eye.

“Miss Isabela to see you, messare.”

“Thanks Bodahn,” I say, dropping my book and getting to my feet.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I just learned the best news! Have you ever heard of the pirate Clawed Maude?”

I cross my arms. “Isabela, you made that up.”

“No, she had hooks for hands! Well, one was a hook and the other was a trident. I think. Or maybe just one hook, or normal hands with sharp fingernails. I think that’s it, actually. Anyway, she was feared all up and down the Wounded Coast, and I have it on good authority that some of her treasure is buried in the caves there.”

“There are hundreds of caves along the Wounded Coast.”

“Well, I know which cave.”

“What’s the treasure?”

“Oh, um, gold, jewels, that sort of thing. Come on, it’ll be fun! And besides, we spend so much time chasing around boys, some famous man’s sword or book or relic. Let’s look for a woman’s treasure.”

She smiles broadly, while waggling her eyebrows. I sigh. “Let me get my shoes.”

Besides my shoes, I grab my pack as well, a few potions, some bread, cheese, and sausage. I give Mother a kiss goodbye, and then Isabela and I head out.

Walking the winding path out of the city and to the coast, I decide to probe for more information.

“Who told you about this treasure?”  
“A very nice man I met at the docks. He gave me this dagger, can you believe it?” She shows me a shiny little blade. “And he mentioned the treasure here on the Coast.”

“So some random sailor decided to tell you about this?”

“Well. I was very nice to him, too.”

“I’m sure. So who was this Clawed Maude, besides having hooks or fingernails or something?”

“Not all of the stories agree, so I’ll tell you the one I like best. Maude lived a few hundred years ago, somewhere in a Free Marches fishing village and married a fisherman who moonlighted as a pirate. His name was Claude, I shit you not. Even though he was a pirate, Claude was very kind to Maude, and they had a good life. She’d beg him to take her sailing but he said no, it was too dangerous.”

She pauses and shakes her head. “Poor Maude! Sailing is exhilarating! To be kept away from it. . . .”

“Back to Maude,” I prompt her.

“Yes! So in the off season, Claude would sail on pirate ships. Maude was tired of being left alone, so she disguised herself as a boy and was hired to take care of the menial tasks. She quickly distinguished herself. One night, the ship was attacked by rival pirates, and Claude was killed. Maude had never had a chance to tell him. The story goes she ripped off her disguise and fought the rival pirates naked, so that she could avenge her husband’s death. She won the battle, and the other pirates were so impressed, she was made captain. She spent the rest of her life at sea. She had many lovers, but never fell in love again.”

“I hadn’t heard story before. Well, I haven’t heard many pirate stories. Have you told it to Varric?”

She shook her head. “Not everything belongs to story tellers.”

“Soooo. . .how did Maude become Clawed Maude?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m not sure. Some later pirate battle.”

“Do pirates really have hooks for hands?”

Isabela laughs. “No.”

We make good time, and reach the caves before nightfall. After consulting a wrinkled piece of paper, Isabela leads us to a small opening, obscured by rocks. We push them aside and crawl in. The cave is small and illuminated by crystals. Beautiful and serene.

“This way,” she says, heading to the right. I do my best to keep up.

The cave is quiet, eerily so; I can’t hear dripping water or animals scurrying or anything like that. It is devoid even of corpses.

“Isabela, are you sure this is right?”

“Of course. Come on.”

Walking down a winding tunnel, I finally hear a soft skittering. Drawing my daggers, I turn around quickly. Several large spiders are lowering themselves from the ceiling. Spiders are nothing new, of course, and Isabela and I get to work. Slash slash, stab stab, it’s almost boring sometimes.

As we sheath our daggers, a new sound fills the cavern. A spider queen emerges from the shadows. It easily dwarfs any of the spiders I have fought thus far. Her carapace shines in shades of blue and purple. Her eyes are small, but they follow our movements.

Isabela and I look at each other, scrambling for our recently sheathed daggers. As she slips into the shadows to overtake the spider from the back, I launch a frontal attack, aiming for the head.   
I distract the spider enough for Isabela to get in a few hits. I leap forward –

\-- only to be hit by a blast of web. It is sticky and crushing. I struggle to disentangle myself, not sure where to start. The web seems to be able to constrict, making it difficult to breathe. The last thing I remember is the spider’s fangs looming over me.

XXVIII. Just a little

Awaking on the cave floor, my first thought is, “She said this would be fun. . . .”

Isabela kneels beside me. “Hawke, Hawke, are you alright?”

I blink. My skin feels as if it is on fire; my brain feels as if it is battling three hangovers at once. “I don’t think so.”

She helps me sit up and pushes a small potion into my hands. The liquid is cool and I can feel is traveling down my throat and into my stomach, but it does not restore me.

“The spider--”

“I took care of it. Luckily, you distracted her enough for me to get in a critical hit.”

“Oh, good.”

“Can you get up? Will you be able to walk?”

I wince as I try to stand. “Slowly.”

She helps me to my feet. “You know, sometimes it’s nice, just the two of us, but there is something to be said for having a mage around.”

I nod. I itch now, too.

“Well, let’s get you out of here, and I’m sure Anders will be able to patch you up.”

“Isabela, when will I stop listening to you?” I ask, putting my arm over her shoulder.

“That is a very good question.”

I lean heavily on her as we make our way out of the cave. My feet feel unconnected and I have trouble figuring out where to set them.

“Didn’t find the treasure, as usual,” Isabela moans.

“What, what do you mean? We’re always finding things. . . .”

“Hawke, I know this will sound silly, but. . . Fenris is always talking about his past, and Merrill about the elven past, and Anders goes on about the future of mages. . .” She shrugs. “I thought it’d be nice to have a piece of my pirate past. Female pirate past.”

Resisting the urge to throw myself on the rocks and writhe until the itching stops, I tell her, “Once I’m well, we’ll gather up some more people and come looking again.”

She hugs me. “Do you mean it?”

“Sure. But. We have to get out of here, first.”

Luckily, the entrance wasn’t far. Unfortunately, it was night when we emerged. Getting to Darktown would be difficult enough, never mind in the dark.

Isabela finds us a patch of land by some scrawny trees. She helps lower me to the ground, hands me a potion, then gets to work setting up a basic camp. It’s funny, so often her competence, her knowledge, is hidden by her bravado. She is always looking for new adventures, whether in the bedroom or not. But she knows what she’s doing. She vanquished that spider. She can start a fire, cook a basic dinner, take care of me.

It dawns on me: Isabela can actually be admirable.

Before I can continue this line of thought, the itch in my skin takes over. I lightly scratch myself, trying to alleviate the sensations. I push myself away from the campfire; everything is too hot.

When she returns to check on me, I ask Isabela if she can help me remove my clothes.

“Oh Hawke, you’re incorrigible. Let’s get your jacket off, but not too much else, don’t want to get infected.” Her eyes widen. “Um, and I’ll get some water, so we can wash off some of the blood.”

Slowly I turn my head, following her eye line. There is a lot of dried blood on my left shoulder, where Queen Spider got me. We wrestle with my jacket, and she fetches me some rags and water. She shakes her head, pointing to my arm.

“What is it? I can’t see. Too dark.”

“Red streaks. Not good, I’ve seen it in sailors before. You need to get it treated quickly. Let’s get some sleep and head out at first light.”

“Thanks, Isabela. I really. . . .”

She puts a finger to my lips. “Don’t start thanking me. I’m kind of responsible for this. Just a little.”

Isabela helps me settle on the ground, then makes up her own bed. She is out within a minute.

Do I really have to sleep? I hope not. The headache, fire, and itching are definitely working to keep me up. I suppose I could think about Isabela some more. I wonder if Clawed Maude ever dealt with a situation like this? Pshaw. Maude probably never existed. I’m sure there was a nice couple named Claude and Maude somewhere, in some little fishing village. Maybe Claude actually sailed on a pirate ship. I’ve just never heard of a female pirate is all. Other than Isabela.

Morning reveals that, once again, I did sleep. In the light, I can more clearly see the red streaks in my skin. I want to make a joke about Fenris, but my throat feels like ashes, and I cannot get the words out.

Isabela nimbly packs up camp, dousing the fire, putting our things away. She finds me another potion and frowns as she checks my skin.

“Feeling any better?”

I cough a few times and finally manage a no.

“We need to get you to Anders as fast as we can. So just concentrate on walking. And on the strong blonde mage waiting for you.”

She does not see my raised eyebrows as she hoists my arm over her shoulder, pulling me up. My limbs are jelly; I have no control.

“Let me think.” She dumps me to the ground and paces for a moment. “Sorry, Hawke.” She forces my jacket back onto my flailing arms, sticking the last few potions in the pockets. Isabela buries the pack in a pile of rocks.  
She picks me up again, hoisting me over her shoulders with a grunt. “Try not to move too much.”

“Okay, Isabela.”

It is a long walk back to Kirkwall. Isabela sings dirty shanties, pausing only to grunt or rearrange me across her soldiers.

“Been a long time since I’d done this. I didn’t realize I’d missed it.”

“Happy, happy to help.”

We stop only once so that Isabela can replenish herself with a potion. Otherwise, our trip remains interrupted. But it is slow going, and when we reach Kirkwall, it is well after night fall.

At the city gates, Isabela huffs and puffs, setting me down. “Any chance you could walk, just a bit?”

“I’ll try.”

The guards let us pass as we slowly stumble into the city. I sweat and shake, and must focus on each muscle to propel myself forward. Even with Isabela’s support, I stumble. I never thought I’d be happy to see Darktown, but when we reach it, I want to cry with joy.

Anders’s lamp is lit, and we all but fall through the door of the clinic. However, it is filled with people. The small rooms are loud and bright and teeming. I feel awful, but the people here look awful: blood and bruises and broken bones.

“I’ll put you down here and get Anders,” Isabela say, easing me to the ground.

I lean against the wall next to a young woman. She has no visible injury; perhaps she waits to hear about the condition of another.

“What happened?” I croak. “Why are so many people here?”

“Did you miss the commotion? There was a mob. Anti-Fereldan, anti-foreigner, anti-elf. . .anti-everything. Young men, mostly, just started attacking. We weren’t doing anything.”

I bet there is more to this story. Maybe Aveline will know. I wondered if she is out tonight? I wonder – wait. Anti-elf?

“Do you know if there have been any attacks on the alienage?”

The young woman shook her head. “I’ve been here.”

I lurch to my feet. I have to find Isabela, so that we can find Merrill and –

Luckily, before I can do anything stupid, Isabela and Anders approach me. His eyes grow large once he sees me. “Maker’s breath, Hawke!”

I reach out, grabbing both of them, gripping their shirts tightly. “Has anyone been to the alienage? Is Merrill okay? We should go. The mob will go there next.”

Anders puts a hand on my arm. “Hawke, you can’t go anywhere. I’m sure Merrill and the other elves will be fine.”

Isabela places her hand on my cheek, looking me in the eyes. “Stay here, I’ll check on Kitten.”

“Are you allergic to spiders?” Anders asks me, dragging me to the back of the clinic.

“Surely there are people here who need more help than me. . . .”

“Let me worry about that,” he says, pushing me onto a cot.

I stare off into space as he works his magic. The heat and itch dissipate, the headache slowly fades. His magic feels cool as it spreads through my veins and brains and bones.

“I’ll see about making you a potion for the future, to prevent this reaction. But stay here and rest.”

I grab his wrist as he started to move away. “Can I help you? Maybe I could. . . .”

“Just rest, Hawke, please.” He hurries away.

I finally have some control over my arms, so I pull off my jacket. The wounds on my shoulder still look angry. Sighing I stretch out my arms. Briefly I’d felt whole. Now my arms ache from being dragged by Isabela.

I sit up, hugging my knees to my chest. I hope Merrill is alright.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I’ve had some awful writer’s block, so hopefully this chapter can get things flowing again.

Chapter 11, Sometime before Act II

XXVIV. Things to do  
In the waning light, the moaning light, stories emerge. Individual voices melt into a chorus. Conflicting details smooth into a singular description of a conflict: a gang in Darktown, preying on Fereldan refugees. Gangs are not unusual; they are really an indigenous species. But clearly they are branching out: they have only appeared in Hightown, the Docks, and Lowtown. Places that might actually post a profit. No one has money in Darktown. Darktown is poor refugees and poorer elves and hacking coughs.

No one is taking coughs. No one is faking coughs, the coughs of hoarse throats and cracked ribs and a little rush of blood.

No, that is not true, someone is taking those coughs, Anders, and making them whole again.

Fighting gangs is nothing new, fighting gangs is what I do. This infirmary has confronted me and I must think about what I have left behind. It is easy to brush people off. I worked hard for my new position in Hightown. I gave so much, I lost so much. But still. I could work. I had something to lose. Most of these people. . they could not choose to do what I did. I have been –

Fate or chance?

\-- I have been lucky.

Aveline’s intel leads me to the gang. A gang of the poor preying on the poorer: angry Kirkwall men and women, angry that the only opportunities in the city require blood and sweat. I cannot let them kill my people, though.  
Are they my people?

My people are Aveline and Isabela and Anders and. . . .these renegades, these rogues. But they are with me as we fight, with me as we take out one more gang, one more leader.

As I stretch and stab and once more my dagger finds purchase in human flesh, I am reminded of my luck. If nothing else, I can defend myself. As the blood rushes from my head and drains from his wounds, I come up with a new plan.

Hence my visit today to Lirene’s, the good woman who had helped me find Anders – well, a lifetime ago. She is busy, she is formidable, she is no-nonsense. I think back to those few coins I’d dropped in the box when I’d first entered her shop. And the coin I have now.

“Lirene, I don’t know if you remember me,” I start. I am alone with her, I am without my people.

She offers a small smile or perhaps a smirk. “We know you, Hawke. The one who moved on!”

I nod. “About that. I – in the Deep Roads. After the Deep Roads. I have more coin than I know what to do with. How many scarves does one woman need? What can I do to help, Lirene?”

Her eyes widen. “Do you mean that?”

“My family has been here for a few years, and so many who traveled with us are still stuck in Darktown. There must be something I can do. Other than busting heads.”

“We could up some scholarships, set aside funds to help individuals, families, we could buy more emergency supplies to have on hand. . .There are many things we can do, Hawke.”

“Then let’s do them.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12, sometime before Act 2

XXVV. Unrest

Getting to sleep actually isn’t so hard these days. My bed is soft and I am used to it. No snores disturb me, nor do I have listen to little animals scurrying about. Sometimes I torture myself, and poke my memories, reminding myself what I have lost to gain this bed. But most of the time, I sleep well.

Tonight, however, I hear a restless pacing outside my door. Mother, I’m sure; Sandal and Bodahn sleep soundly in rooms at the back of the house. Should I let her stew, let her worry herself out? No; too many years in uncertain circumstances means I cannot block it out.

Grabbing my robe, I meet Mother in the landing outside of my room. “Mother! Are you alright?”

“Oh! Marian. Did I wake you?” Mother is the master at feigning ignorance.

“I heard you pacing and was worried. Why don’t we get some tea?” I take her arm and lead her downstairs.

In the kitchen, she watches me put a kettle on.

“You’ve been busy lately,” she starts.

“That is always an understatement, Mother.”

“I heard you gave some of our money to the refugees.”

“I used some of my money to establish a fund, yes.”

She shakes her head. “Do you think that’s wise?”

I am surprised to hear her speak in such a way. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what if we need those funds later, or what if the Templars look at this unkindly and take it out on Bethany?”

“Mother, Bethany is fine. Anders told me --”

“Yes, your mage friend. Is this money to help him?”

I grab some cups and slam them down. “Mother, what has gotten in to you? It’s not like you to speak so uncharitably.”

She looks away. “You’re right. You’re right. I. . . .”

I sit down, pouring the water over the leaves in our cups. “What’s really wrong, Mother?”

“Everything keeps changing.”

I nod. “Such is the nature of life, I imagine.”

“I know you want to change things for the better. I love that about you, Marian. But sometimes I worry.”

“Mother, we’ve been really lucky. I mean. . .compared to some. I mean. . . .” Always with the silver tongue, Marian.

“Anyway, Father and Bethany would want us to help other people, don’t you think?”

After taking a sip, she says, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I laugh. “I never do.”

XXVVI. Soft

Echoing Mother’s words, Aveline asks me at lunch, “Do you think that’s wise?”

“Well, I’m starting to have my doubts.”

“That kind of influx of coin could upset the balance. You could make some people quite upset.”

“I just want to help some of our fellow countrymen.”

“So do I, but I’ve worked hard for my position, and I’m concerned --”

“That’ll lose it? And who could pry it away from you, Lady Man Hands?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t you start.”

“We both worked hard. We had the strength to work. Not everyone has that strength.”

“You’re getting soft in your old age, Hawke.”

“True.”

“I know your intentions are good. It’s just, this money might stir up trouble, resentment.”

I cross my arms and raise my eyebrow. “And when have I let that stop me?”

Aveline smiles. “Oh Hawke, I just love it when you send more work my way.”

XXVVII. Wisdom

“Do you think that’s wise?” Varric asks that night at the Hanged Man.

“N-no?”

He laughs. “It’s probably not, but it’s the right thing to do. Why not share the wealth?”

“And do you share yours?”

“Why do you think I live at the Hanged Man?”


End file.
